


how to build IKEA furniture in 10 days

by Anonymous



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Arthur has come to the brilliant conclusion that boyfriends are legally obligated to help you build apartment furniture while you lounge around looking cute.





	how to build IKEA furniture in 10 days

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: a little cracky but not enough to tag; mostly just a lot of banter  
> minor ariadne/mal
> 
> huuuge thanks to ren for being my beta + britpicking for me. without her, i would’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and would have never been able to figure out past from present tense.

“I need a boyfriend,” Arthur sighs, leaning further back in between Mal’s legs as she gently massages his scalp.

“Y’know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard those words out of your mouth,” Ariadne says.

Arthur frowns. “No, I’ve said ‘I need a boyfriend’ before.”

Mal makes a clicking noise. “Non, chérie. You’ve always said, ‘Men are good for two things: fucking and telling you where the closest gym is.’”

“The closest gym is right off Forsyth Street, you know that, Arthur,” Dom pipes up.

“Oh, that does sound like me. Also, Dom, shut up.”

“Told you,” Ariadne sing-songs.

Dom pouts and buries further into his blanket nest he made before they all got there.

“Why do you need a boyfriend, chérie?” Mal asks.

“I’ve been in my apartment for three months already and there is furniture sitting around unbuilt.”

Mal frowns and tugs gently at Arthur’s hair, disapproving. “Then where have you been eating and sleeping?”

“On a stack of boxes and in a sleeping bag like I’m twenty-three again and we’re camping out to see the Kusuma exhibit.”

“Oh yes, memories,” Ariadne sighs dreamily. “Mal and Dom’s marriage falling apart, Dom complaining about his back like he was sixty and not a spry twenty-seven-year-old, me who had not yet bloomed into the dyke I am, pretending my wet dreams about Mal were about nothing more than friendship. I miss our young selves.”

“Hey! I slept funny the night before okay,” Dom protests from his nest.

“Tsk. Excuses, excuses,” Ariadne shoots back.

Mal turns and beams at Ariadne, “You had wet dreams about me, mon petite chou?”

“Of course, babe. You were very good with your tongue in them which I’m happy to say turned out to be true in real life too,” Ariadne replies, leaning in to kiss Mal.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Before you guys tongue fuck, can we get back to getting me a boyfriend?”

Ariadne and Mal pull away reluctantly and Mal’s hands return to rubbing his scalp. Dom gets up from his cocoon and starts collecting pillows.

“What do boyfriends and furniture have to do with each other?” Dom asks.

“Well, I’m about 80% sure boyfriends are obligated to help their boyfriend put together furniture for the apartment they’ve been in for three months.”

“Nonsense!” Mal responds. “We’ll help you!”

Arthur tugs Mal’s hands out his hair and turns towards her. “Are you serious? Last time you guys came over to ‘help’ all you did was drink wine while _I_ sat on the floor and put things together, fending off Dom as he drunkenly talked about how string theory and the sociological construct of gender are related ‘and why are there no papers on this? I’m going to write one. How do I write again?’ Now all I have is one very wobbly nightstand, no wine, and random sticky notes from when Dom was trying to write a paper.”

“Listen,” Dom says from where he’s carefully constructing a fort out of all the pillows and blankets he’s collected. “It’s not my fault nobody is as brilliant as I am and has yet to publish a paper on quantum theory and the construction of gender; I’m still trying to write that by the way. Once I started sobering up, I remembered that having a Ph.D. means I probably know how to write.”

Arthur throws his hands up in the air. “He’s terrible, Mal. Why did you marry him, again?”

“Young love, chérie. It was young love.”

“Plus I managed to build all the IKEA stuff we got when we moved into our first apartment,” Dom says between yawns as he adds the finishing touches to his fort. “Huh, I see your point now about boyfriends.”

“Told you!”

“I’ll set you up,” Ariadne says. “All you have is Grindr and you don’t even use it.”

“Yeah, because everyone I found hot had ‘no rice’ in their bio, so I gave up.”

“Yikes, brutal,” Dom says.

“Do you ever shut up, Dom?” Arthur snaps.

“You wish.”

“Don’t be mean to him, Arthur, just because men are terrible.” Mal scolds.

“Fine. Sorry, Dom.”

“No, you’re not,” Dom replies from where he is now under his fort, hidden from sight.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Mal scowls and flicks Arthur lightly.

“What?! He’s right!”

“You should go out with Eames. I know he’s looking,” comes Dom’s muffled voice.

“Hey, I said I’d set him up! But yeah, you should go out with Eames,” Ariadne agrees.

“Who’s Eames?” comes Arthur’s reply.

“He’s a friend. I think he’s with the linguistics department?”

“If he’s your friend, Dom, he’s not hot.”

Dom comes out his fort, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“It means all your friends, save for us, are ugly.”

Dom’s face goes from frowning to looking dejected. “Ariadne can vouch for him if that makes you feel better?”

“Hmm. Okay fine, set me up with Eames. If it turns out terribly and no furniture ends up being built, I’m coming for both you and Ariadne.”

Mal claps, quietly singing, “Arthur is going on a date, Arthur is going on a date.” and that is that.

 

 

The date is on a Tuesday evening. Which is ridiculous, who goes on a date on a Tuesday? Oh right, adults with actual schedules, Arthur reminds himself. Dom ended up being a liaison between Arthur and Eames, figuring out their schedules for them, which was nice, Arthur supposes.

So it’s five pm on a Tuesday and Arthur is in his Saturday best (tailored slacks, a cashmere sweater in deep purple, and loafers freshly polished—if Rabbi Michael saw him, he’d ask why he wasn’t hitting up a gay bar at ten am instead of sitting for shabbat) in a coffee shop of all places. To be fair, Dancing Goats is absolutely delicious and its famed appearance in _Love, Simon_ made him love it even more but still, it’s a coffee shop date at five in the evening with one of Dom’s friends who may or may not be attractive.

A man in houndstooth pants and blazer to match comes tumbling in the shop with such a harried look about him, Arthur became mildly concerned he may tip over any minute. The man glances around the shop before his eyes finally land on Arthur and he grins, walking over.

“You must be Arthur,” the man says with a smooth British accent like he’s only shopped at Waitrose his whole life.

“And you are?” Arthur replies, taking a sip from his coffee, one eyebrow raised to show he’s not impressed by the accent.

“Eames. Dom’s friend. He told me to look for a fellow in purple with the facial expression of someone about to commit murder.”

Arthur blanches. “Did he really say that?”

Eames lips quirk in amusement, “Yes. Though your face is rather charming and you don’t look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

“Oh, good. That must just be my face when I’m around Dom then.”

“I suppose. Listen, do you mind if I grab a cup before I sit? My students are in the middle of midterms and I’m in the middle of writing a paper so it’s been hell all around and I feel like I may just collapse on you.”

Arthur waves in the direction of the line. “Go ahead; far be it from me to stop you from getting coffee.”

After a few minutes, Eames comes back with a large mug and sits down across from Arthur with a relieved sigh before taking a giant sip.

“Yes, okay, brilliant. Now that I’m on my way to being caffeinated I first want to apologize for requesting to meet at a coffee shop. It was the closest thing to me and I have a class to teach right after this. I honestly think our department head has it out for me.”

“It-it’s okay, really. I’m sorry but is your shirt paisley? Made out of, um, blue satin?”

Eames looks down at his shirt. “Oh, oh yes it is.”

“It’s horrifying.” Arthur was supposed to be thinking that. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s just that all of Dom’s friends are not-so-attractive and when I saw you I thought how could an incredibly hot guy who looks like he could bench press me without breaking a sweat be friends with Dom when Dom doesn’t even go to the gym, surely there must be a catch. And the catch was that you wear horrifying shirts and you have tattoos, I saw one peeking from your collar which tattoos aren’t terrible they’re actually really hot and oh my god I’m still talking, aren’t I? I’m so-” Arthur takes a breath then moves to cover his mouth with his hand.

“I-“ Arthur starts, voice muffled. “I’m so fucking sorry. fuck.”

Eames laughs at Arthur’s apparent embarrassment. “It’s alright, darling. I think I’m charmed instead of offended. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that my wardrobe is horrifying, mainly by my students.”

“Oh. I see no one has knocked sense into you.”

“I’m quite terrible at listening when it comes to my wardrobe choices.”

“I feel like if you grew up in a country manor, you should have better taste.”

Eames quirks an eyebrow, “Now what makes you assume that?”

“Accent.”

“Do you hate it?”

“Yes, on principle.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m a Londoner through and through. Just had the luck of attending public school, therefore, my accent. I’m quite adept at switching if you like.”

“Hm, no. It’s grown on me.”

“In the span of a few minutes?”

“Yes, mostly because you can probably bench press me, and I like that.”

Eames throws his head back and laughs at Arthur’s proclamation. Taking another sip from his mug, Eames asks, “So what do you do, Arthur?”

“Conservation work. There’s absolutely no money in it and I’m convinced I’m one day going to die underneath all my paint palettes and a thoroughly fucked up Hoare painting that someone dropped, but I like it enough not to care.”

“Well,” Eames whispers conspiratorially, leaning in, “between us, an educator and conservationist, I believe we have what we’ve all been yearning for, a stable income.”

Arthur grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks dimpling. “I think I like you, Mr. Eames.”

“I think I like you too, Mr. Arthur,” Eames says with an answering smile.

They talk long enough to grab another cup of coffee and when Eames phone alarm goes off, signaling time for him to go to his next class.

“We should do this again, darling,” Eames says, getting up.

“Yes, I would love to. Here, give me your phone.” Arthur puts out his hand for Eames to put his phone and quickly puts in his number—shooting off a text to himself so he can put Eames number in his own phone.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” Eames says, leaning down to give Arthur a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be waiting,” Arthur replies.

 

  

“Dom,” Arthur immediately says after entering Dom’s apartment. It’s the week after his first somewhat embarrassing date with Dom’s friend who ended up being very attractive (save for the paisley and posh accent) and honestly, Arthur was very bored and he wanted to talk to someone about how awesome Eames was.

“Yes?”

“How are you friends with someone so hot?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… Dom, he’s really, _really_ hot? We’ve established that none of your friends are that hot.”

“Oh, he’s _really_ hot is he?” Ariadne asks, parroting Arthur.

“No, Ariadne. You don’t understand. He’s like, buff. And tattoos. He’s… he’s ‘fuck me against the wall, I’ll let you bareback me literally any time, and I’m not into it but you can totally choke me if you want’ kind of hot.”

Dom frowns at Arthur’s words, then squints like he’s trying not to call one of his students an idiot after they propose that the matrix is real. “You know, I actually don’t know.”

“Don’t know what? How hot he is? You’re straight but not blind, Dom.”

“One, don’t insult me by calling me straight and two, I meant I don’t know how we became friends.”

“Wait,” Ariadne interrupts. “Are you coming out to us, Dom?”

“Coming out? What? No? I thought you guys knew I was bi? How did you not know? Arthur, you knew right?”

“Huh? No,” Arthur replies.

“We’ve known each other since you were in undergrad. How did you not know?”

“Well…” Ariadne replies for Arthur, making a vague gesture. “You’re well, you.”

“And you were married to Mal,” Arthur adds on.

“I’ve had sex with men! Being married to a woman doesn’t make me straight! I had sex with Yusuf, y’know! Multiple times!”

“Oh, same,” says Arthur. “Wait, we’ve both had sex with Yusuf? So, I’ve basically had sex with you? Ew.”

“Ew,” Ariadne echoes.

“I’ve had sex with Mal,” Dom points out.

Ariadne covers her ears, “And that is the single worst sentence I’ve heard in my entire life. I’m talking to my therapist about this.”

“Oh, you know actually, now that I think about it: I met Eames at Heretic when I went to meet Yusuf,” Dom says, ignoring Ariadne’s comment.

“Oh my god!” Ariadne exclaims. “Is Eames into leather? That’s good news for you, Arthur.”

“You’re into leather, Dom?!” Arthur sits down and puts his head between his knees. “I did not need to know this information about you.”

“We’ve known each other for ten years, Arthur! You should know all these things! Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you didn’t know I bottom. Frequently.”

Arthur glances up from between his knees, face pale. “I hate my life.”

Ariadne nods. “I understand. Mal is very good with a strap.”

“Exactly,” Dom agrees.

“I hate my life,” Arthur repeats. Getting up and brushing off imaginary lint from his pressed pants, Arthur makes his way to the door. “I’m going back to my apartment. Until I get the image of you being fucked out of my mind, I’m not talking to you Dom. Ariadne, let me know what kind of dildo Mal uses; if a memory can conjure up that much bliss on your face, I want the product.”

“Of course, babydoll.”

“Wait,” Dom calls. “Are you and Eames going on another date?”

“Yup! I’m meeting him at his office between classes. We couldn’t figure out another time and he said that he’s free then since it’s office hours and no one comes to them.”

“Let this be a lesson to you, Ariadne,” Dom says solemnly. “Always attend your professor’s office hours we grow very lonely and may be keen on inviting a jaded-with-life twink back for office sex disguised as a proposal for lunch.”

“Dom, I’ve been out of school for years. And I went to your office hours all the time, which is how I ended up crushing on Mal so hard.”

“Umm I haven’t been a twink since I was 25,” Arthur interrupts, “but go off, Mr. I’m-into-leather-and-otters-now since you know everything. Also, we’re not going to have office sex, it’s tacky.”

“If you say so,” sing-songs Dom. “Now weren’t you leaving? Bye, twink.”

“Fuck you, Dom,” Arthur calls over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him, with, to his horror, sounds like affection.

 

 

“Oh yes, he is quite ‘fuck-me-against-a-wall’ hot, dear Arthur,” is the first thing out of Mal’s mouth when she enters Dom’s apartment and sees Eames and Arthur curled up on Dom’s couch.

“Where did you hear that?” Arthur squints.

“Oh so I’m ‘fuck-me-against-a-wall’ hot, am I? Do tell me what else I am, darling,” Eames laughs out.

“Mon petite chou tells me all the good gossip I miss, you know this.” Turning to Eames, Mal says with an amused grin, “Our Arthur also said that he’s not into it but you can choke him if you want.”

Eames quirks an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

Ariadne tumbles in with some flowers and a brown bag. “I heard you’re a leather daddy, Eames. Arthur was delighted to hear that.”

Eames looks at Arthur who has elected to bury his face into one of the decorative pillows. “What on earth have you been telling your friends about me?”

“Ariadne only says that because I said I met you at Heretic,” Dom pipes up from the kitchen entrance. “Oh good, you brought the vodka.” He drags Ariadne into the kitchen with him, “Gimmie, gimmie; I want to get drunk.”

“’M go’ng to kill aww o you,” says Arthur, face still fully smothered by a pillow.

“What’s that, love?” Mal asks.

Arthur puts his head up. “I’m going to kill all of you.”

“Now, now, pet,” Eames says, running his hands through Arthur’s hair. “There’s no need to be embarrassed that you like me and the idea of me in leather. I can do loads of things with leather.” He gives Arthur a salacious wink.

“What, did your public school education teach you how to use a whip?”

“You’d be surprised to know what a public school education does for a lad.”

Mal laughs. “You are an absolute delight, Eames. I’ll tell you all of what Arthur likes in bed so you can best satisfy him, yes?” She sits down next to Eames, eyes glittering.

Ariadne brings out a tray of shots, Dom following her in an apron with big block letters spelling out the phrase “I’D LET VENOM RAW ME.”

“I see you liked Venom, Dom?” Eames asks after he reads his apron.

“Listen,” Dom justifies himself, “if you saw Venom you saw it for two reasons. One, you wanted Venom to raw you or two, you wanted to see Venom bend Eddie Brock over.”

“I wanted both,” Arthur agrees.

“Really now?” Eames says, gently poking at the blush spreading across Arthur’s cheeks at his confession.

Schooling his face, Arthur looks Eames dead in the eye, “You know what they say, ‘the sharper the teeth the better.’”

Eames grins wickedly. “I adore the wealth of information I’m getting about you, darling.”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Can you guys like, not eye fuck? Right in front of me?”

“Oh, don’t be a prude, mon petit chou,” Mal scolds. “We’ve practically had sex on that couch when we were all over for our annual Christmas movie marathon.”

“That’s true,” Dom says, downing a shot. “The image of Mal going down on you before Arthur could put a stop to it is still forever seared into my brain. It’s what I use when I want to get rid of a boner.”

“Hush, Dom. Two very hot ladies getting it on should turn you on, not off.”

“Not if the two ladies in question are my ex-wife and former grad student.”

Eames looks between all of them and then sends Arthur a questioning glance.

“Please don’t ask.” Arthur shakes his head, reaching towards the coffee table to grab the whole bottle of vodka. “This is mine now, since you all insist on embarrassing me the first time I bring Eames back to meet my friends.”

Dom pouts. “Has all your apartment furniture been built then?”

“What does furniture have to do with this conversation,” questions Eames.

“Arthur has gone months without fixing up his apartment and finally insisted on finding a boyfriend since, and I quote, ‘a boyfriend is like… legally obligated to help me out here, right?’”

Arthur throws his pillow at Dom, knocking Dom over so he’s now laying on the ground. “Shut up, oh my god!”

“Oh dear, are you just using me, darling?” Eames says.

“No… Jesus Christ no. If I was just using you I would have taken you back to my place to help then broken up with you. And we’ve been dating for almost six months already and my apartment is still in shambles,” Arthur points out.

“Oh, then you don’t need me to help out then?” Eames pouts, matching Dom.

Arthur squints at him, disbelieving. “If you really want to we can do it tomorrow. I have the weekend free and you can ignore all the assignments you need to grade.”

“Lovely!” Eames brightens up.

“We’ll help out, Arthur, dear,” says Mal.

“No, we’ve been over this stay away from my apartment, I want my alcohol safe and furniture built.”

“Tsk, tsk, fine.”

“SHOTS, SHOTS,” Dom yells from the floor. “And then food.”

“Guess we’re getting stupid drunk tonight, y’all,” says Ariadne, raising up a glass.

Dom raises an empty glass, Mal procures a champagne bottle from seemingly nowhere, Eames holds up his water, and Arthur downs some vodka before clinking it against everyone else’s glass.

“Shots!”

 

 

In the end, Eames ends up building all the furniture while Arthur tries (and fails) to avoid licking at Eames sweat-glistened tattoos every so often. Mal, Dom, and Ariadne come over, undeterred by Arthur slamming the door shut on them upon their arrival (“Where the fuck did you learn how to pick a lock, Ariadne?” “I come from a life of crime—crime being breaking into my parent’s house after losing my key. Oh, by the way, you’re going to need a new lock because that’s busted now” “Jesus fuck.”) No one else aids Eams, all of Arthur’s alcohol disappears, he drunkenly asks Eames to tie him up halfway through a second bottle of wine, Dom asks Eames about his favourite buttplug and they all live happily ever after. Probably, maybe. Well, Arthur’s apartment finally looks like an apartment with a boyfriend who likes to lounge around in nothing but IPA-patterned boxer shorts, and friends who pop over to be as annoying as ever is the only definite happy end this story can provide.


End file.
